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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24058690">hochelaga</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lustresky/pseuds/lustresky'>lustresky</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, F/M, Happy Becomes Peter's Dad, Happy Ending, Mentions of Nicotine Addiction, Peter's a Misunderstood and Troubled Teen, Songfic, Trust Issues</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 02:48:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,248</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24058690</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lustresky/pseuds/lustresky</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter never really had a ton of positive male influences in his life, and at this point he had given up his hopes of ever having one— that is, until he meets Happy.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Happy Hogan/May Parker (Spider-Man)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>hochelaga</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>title is a song by alexandre poulin. (it’s a really good song, i highly recommend listening to it in the background while reading/listening to it after! i translated the lyrics in english but it isn’t an exact translation, i changed a bit of the words to fit in more with the story!!) i recently listened to it again and it inspired me to write this. a lot of fics have tony as a parental figure in peter’s life, and he was my first choice for this fic too, but in the end happy just... made more sense. but honestly?? idek if this fic makes any sense. hopefully it does lmao</p><p>please note that the plots of CIVIL WAR, INFINITY WAR &amp; ENDGAME are excused in this fic. </p><p>thank u&lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p></p><div class="">
  <p> </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p></p>
  <div class="">
    <p><em> <strong>T’es pas mon père, tu t’prends pour qui? </strong> </em> <em>(You’re not my dad, who do you think you are?) </em></p>
    <p><em> <strong>T</strong></em><em><strong>u sais rien de moi pis de mes amis.</strong> </em> <em> (You know nothing about me or my friends.)</em></p>
    <p> </p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Peter scoffs to himself as he hears May laugh in the living room; he hisses at the contact of alcohol on his skin, groaning at the large gash on his forearm. He quickly bandages it up, making sure to wear a long sleeve shirt in order to hide the large white cotton wrapping around his injured limb. </p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>As soon as he hears footsteps, he swiftly hides the first-aid kit under his bed.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>May opens his bedroom door, still wearing her work clothes and a huge smile on her face. “Peter!” She grins, walking towards him and grabbing his arm— the one that had been sliced open just an hour ago. He inwardly winces, but keeps on his indifferent face. </p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>He has a front to maintain. </p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>
      <em>“Come on! I have someone for you to meet.”</em>
    </p>
    <p> </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p><em> <strong>Ma mère ’n’a ramené des ben plus tough,</strong> </em> <em> (My mom has brought home tougher guys,) </em></p>
  <p><em> <strong>M</strong></em><em><strong>oi, les gars comme toi j’les mets dans ma poche.</strong> </em> <em> (Guys like you are nothing to me.)</em></p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p> Peter trudges to the living room, mentally preparing himself to see another man that he knows he would hate in a few days’ time. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>To his surprise, however, he’s greeted by a man who’s the exact opposite of the image that he had been used to. Where the black leather jacket had been, there’s a formal black suit— complete with a tie and all. Where the gelled up hair and five o’clock shadow had been, there’s curly, salt and pepper hair with a white beard to match. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Where a smirk that seemed to size him up had been, there’s a genuine smile.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“This is Harold,” May introduces the man in front of him with such a wide grin that her eyes crinkle. “Harold “Happy” Hogan.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>What kind of fucking name is Happy?</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Harold clears his throat and offers his right hand to Peter; a first for all the men that May had brought back home.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I’m Peter.” Peter says, taking his hand. The man gently grips it, hands warm yet firm at the same time as he shook it with one of them on top of Peter’s own. “Nice to meet you, Harold.” He adds, forcing out the manners May had ingrained in him even if he doesn’t like it.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Nice to meet you too, Peter,” Harold smiles. “And Harold’s too formal—”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>“Just call me Happy.”</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p> </p>
  <p><em> <strong>Pis tu vas ben faire comme tous les autres,</strong> </em> <em> (You’d be just like the others,)</em></p>
  <p><em><strong>T</strong></em><em><strong>u vas claquer la porte en mettant ton coat.</strong> </em> <em> (You’d slam the door closed whilst wearing your coat.)</em></p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Harold— no, <em>Happy,</em> stays over for dinner. Peter left the conversation to May and him as he focuses on the news being displayed on the TV while he chews on the food that she had prepared.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Rising vigilante, Spider-Man, spotted!” The female TV reporter announces, hair swishing left and right as she animates her words with hand gestures. “Six thieves have been found, bound with the ever familiar web and with the oh-so-famous venom puncture holes in their necks!”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“As much as his work is appreciated by many,” The announcer continues. “Is his way of justice acceptable, when these men—” The TV flickers to show the mug-shots of the six men, now incapacitated due to the poison. Peter recognizes the one who had cut his arm immediately. “Have not yet faced trial? Tonight, we will be discussing this with J. Jonah Jameson, editor in chief of The Daily—”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The TV screen suddenly goes black. Peter groans at May as he looks over at her; her arm outstretched with the remote in her hand aimed at the now blank display.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>“No watching TV while we’re eating dinner.”</em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p><strong><em>C’est moi du haut de mes 14 ans,</em> </strong> <em> (It’s my 14 year old self,) </em></p>
  <p><em> <strong>Q</strong></em><em><strong>ui veille sur le bonheur de ma maman</strong> </em> <em>.  (Who grows old because of my mom’s happiness.)</em></p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p> Peter had quickly retreated in his bedroom after dinner, telling May that he still had homework to do.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The truth is that he just can’t stomach seeing Happy and his legal guardian sending love eyes to one another for another fucking hour.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Especially when he had already told himself numerous times in the past few years to never attach himself to any of the men that she brought home— no matter how happy they make her, because he knows better.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He <em>tries</em> to disregard their laughter outside of his bedroom. He <em>tries </em>to ignore the creaks of the floorboard as May sent Happy home. He<em> tries</em> to be oblivious to the peck that they both shared as a goodbye.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Tries; because his enhanced senses completely made sure that he notices every single one of them.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>Much to his dismay.</em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p><em> <strong>T’es pas mon père, m’as-tu compris? </strong> </em> <em>(You’re not my dad, don’t you understand?)</em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p><em> <strong>J</strong>'<strong>l</strong></em><em><strong>es connais les grands secrets d’la vie</strong> </em> <em>. (I already know life’s greatest secrets.)</em></p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter still remembers his first smoke.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He had been twelve.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It had been an experience— and when his senses got even more enhanced after he got bit, it didn’t take long for him to get addicted.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>May doesn’t know about it. Just like she doesn’t know about him being a vigilante.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>As soon as he hears a scream from an alley not too far from where he’s perched, Peter drops his smoke onto the cement— squishing and therefore extinguishing it with his foot.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He shoots a web onto the light pole to his right, hoping that whoever it is that he’ll save, that they’ll give him money for his services; just like what most people would do.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter lets out a breath, missing the nicotine in his lungs.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>He’ll need it for another hit.</em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p><em> <strong>Garde tes histoires pis tes conseils, </strong> </em> <em>(Keep your stories and advices to yourself,) </em></p>
  <p><em> <strong>C</strong></em><em><strong>heck, fais tes affaires, j’vas faire pareil.</strong> </em> <em> (Look, mind your business and I’ll do the same.)  </em></p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Happy comes over again for dinner.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>As May cooks, they both sit on the sofa, watching the news.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Spider-Man strikes again!” The same female reporter from a few days ago announces. “This time it seems that he has saved over a dozen people in a department store by binding the attacker in his webs and incapacitating him with his ‘venom’!”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Happy groans beside him and Peter looks up at him, annoyed. <em>What’s </em><strong><em>his</em></strong><em> deal?</em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>As if he can read minds, Happy looks back at him, a stern look on his face.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Listen,” He starts, head downcast to stare at him in the eye. “If something like that ever happens to you, you go and run the other way— alright?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter scoffs at his words and breaks eye contact. <em>As if.</em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Happy doesn’t seem to be content with his answer. So stubbornly, he asks, “Peter? Do you understand?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter subtly rolls his eyes. <em>Who does he think he is? </em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yeah,” He just replies back, not wanting to strike another conversation with another person who thinks that they have more power than him. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>He has had enough of those.</em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p><em> <strong>Mais si jamais tu mets l’pied dans ma chambre,</strong> </em> <em> (If you even enter a foot in my room,) </em></p>
  <p><em> <strong>J</strong>' </em><em><strong>te jure que j’te paye des vacances.</strong> </em> <em> (I’ll make sure that you’ll regret it.)</em></p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Peter!” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter quickly fumbles out of his suit, pulling the red and blue cloth off rapidly as he opens his closet door to stuff it in. At full speed, he grabs his venom and web shooters and locks them inside his desk drawer.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The footsteps don’t cease, and Peter only manages to get a shirt over his head and a pair of boxers over his legs before his door opens to reveal Happy; an eyebrow raised at him.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It doesn’t take long before the man’s eyes widen upon casting sight onto his bleeding legs.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“<em>Jesus Christ,</em> Peter, what happened to you?” He asks, opening the door even more to let himself in. “<em>Are you okay?</em>”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter doesn’t even try to keep the bubbling rage inside him as Happy carelessly welcomes himself into his bedroom; the only space that he has to himself. The only place that understands him.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yes!” Peter cries out, anger coursing through his veins. <em>Fucking hell</em>, he doesn’t have time for this. “Now please— get out!”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Happy, surprised at his outburst, moves backwards until his feet were a mere inches away from Peter’s bedroom door frame. “Okay, <em>okay—</em> <em>I’m glad that you’re okay,</em>” He raises his hands up in retaliation, sighing. “But still, what in the hell happened to you, kid?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter doesn’t answer, instead he ignores the burning pain across his legs while walking towards the door with the goal of closing it. He grits his teeth in the process.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>“That’s none of your business.”</em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p><em> <strong>Ma mère pense ’t’es l’homme de sa vie,</strong> </em> <em> (My mom thinks that you’re the love of her life,) </em></p>
  <p><em> <strong>M</strong></em><em><strong>oi, j’te donne pas trois semaines pis t’es parti.</strong> </em> <em> (Me? I’ll bet that you’ll leave after three weeks.)</em></p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p> Peter had been genuinely surprised when he had come back home to find May and Happy in the kitchen, flour and eggs scattered everywhere.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Their smiles are bright.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter clears his throat, effectively gaining their attention as he crosses his arms across his chest. “What are you guys doing?” He asks, throwing a pointed look at May who just laughs at his question.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“What does it seem like we’re doing, Pete?” She replies, a huge smile still displayed on her face. “We’re trying to bake a cake!”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>That still isn’t enough of an answer. “What for?” He adds; from what he remembers— which was<em> almost everything,</em> nobody has their birthdays today.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>May just sticks her tongue out at Peter.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>“It’s Happy and I’s first month anniversary, babe!”</em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p><em> <strong>S’rais-tu mon père jusqu’à midi?</strong> </em> <em> (Will you be my dad till’ noon?) </em></p>
  <p><em><strong>J'</strong></em><em><strong>me suis mis dans l’trouble pis comme t’es ici.</strong> </em> <em> (I got myself in trouble, and now you’re here.)</em></p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p> Peter curses at himself as he holds his head down in between his arms. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The principal doesn’t say anything to him as the air remains tense.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I’m sorry—” Peter’s head pops up at the unexpected voice. <em>That isn’t May.</em> “I had a meeting— I came here as fast as I can.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Looking to his right, Peter sees Happy taking the chair beside him; his own face stoic.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“That’s alright, Mr. Hogan,” The principal gives him a tight lipped smile. “Now, shall we discuss why I called you here?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Happy looks at Peter, an eyebrow raised. Peter doesn't— <em>no</em>, he<em> can’t </em>bring himself to say nor explain anything.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Everything is clear.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>He had fucked up.</em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p><em> <strong>Ç’a l’air qu’à l’école y auraient trouvé,</strong> </em> <em> (It seems that the school has found,) </em></p>
  <p><em><strong>1</strong></em><em><strong>0 grammes de shit dans mon casier.</strong> </em> <em> (The ten grams in my locker.)</em></p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p> Peter <em>had known</em> that he should’ve been more cautious; he <em>knew</em> that his school had a strict rule against cigarettes. <em>He had known</em>.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>However, did that knowledge still stop him from lighting one up?</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>No.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Is it a surprise that he was caught?</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>No.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter bites his tongue as he tries to even out his breathing.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The next thought passes by his mind and he can’t help but wholeheartedly agree.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>I’m a disappointment.</em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p><em> <strong>Faudrait pas l’dire à ma mère,</strong> </em> <em> (Please, don’t tell my mom,) </em></p>
  <p><em> <strong>E</strong><strong>l</strong></em><em><strong>le s’rait ben capable de trop s’en faire.</strong> </em> <em> (She wouldn’t be able to handle it.)</em></p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p> Happy took him home.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The whole car ride had been silent; neither party focusing more on the road than one another.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter forces himself to speak up once Happy has parked his car in front of the brick building.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“<em>Please..</em>” He croaks out, feeling the tears welling up in his eyes. “Don’t tell May.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>God, he hated being like this.</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>A pause follows, and Peter worries for a second that Happy will spill everything.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>However, the man beside him lets out a sigh as he places a hand on Peter’s shoulder.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He squeezes, and for the first time, Peter doesn’t flinch at the touch of a man.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Don’t worry kid,” Happy says.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>“I won’t.’</em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p><em> <strong>Toi, tu sais comme moi qu’on passe par là,  </strong> </em> <em>(You know just as well as me that we all go through this,) </em></p>
  <p><em> <strong>Q</strong></em><em><strong>uand on devient un homme dans Hochelaga.</strong> </em> <em> (That this is how we grow up in Hochelaga.)</em></p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p> May gives them both a bright smile as they enter the apartment.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Dinner will be ready in a sec!” She tells them both; giving Peter a warm hug and Happy a peck on the cheek before sprinting back to the kitchen.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter just looks up at the man beside him who grew red at his guardian’s antic.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He doesn’t even try to stop the genuine laugh coming out of his throat as Happy looks back at him, trying his best to mask his fondness for May with annoyance. “What?” He scrunches his nose up at Peter, trying to act tough but failing as his flushed face goes against him.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter just continues snickering. “Nothing.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>The sudden happiness in his stomach’s overwhelming. </em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p><em> <strong>S’rais-tu mon père jusqu’à cette nuit? </strong> </em> <em>(Will you be my dad until tonight?) </em></p>
  <p><em> <strong>J</strong></em><em><strong>’me souviens même plus quand l’mien est parti. </strong> </em> <em>(I don’t even remember when mine left.)</em></p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p> After dinner, Peter had mustered up the courage to ask both May and Happy if they wanted to watch a movie. They both had said yes— but Peter knew that May never really had a thing for sci-fi movies, and so it isn’t a surprise for him when she had blacked out thirty minutes into ‘The Empire Strikes Back.’</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Happy, however, still has his eye focused on the film. In fact, he seems to be enjoying it way more than Peter— which was a complete yet welcomed surprise.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He doesn’t ever remember having witnessed something so nice like this after <em>his</em> passing: May curling up against someone, a smile on her face as she slept; completely serene as the man who she loved cradles her back. It was a sight that pulled at Peter’s heartstrings, yet also tied them into pretty bows at the same time.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>As the sounds of the movie fills the air, Peter realizes something which made him smile.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>He can get used to this.</em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p><em> <strong>Y avait pas grand temps pour dire « Je t’aime ».</strong> </em> <em> (There wasn’t really a lot of time to say “I love you.”) </em></p>
  <p><em> <strong>E</strong></em><em><strong>ntre la DPJ pis le HLM. </strong> </em> <em>(Between the CSS and the DSS.)  </em></p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>After that night, May and Happy had started saying <em>“I love you”‘s</em> to one another more often.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He and Happy got closer— and slowly…</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>Peter let his walls down bit by bit.</em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p><em> <strong>On pourrait p’t’être r’garder la T.V., </strong> </em> <em>(Maybe we can watch some TV,) </em></p>
  <p><em> <strong>Q</strong></em><em><strong>uand maman rentrera d’son shift au PFK. </strong> </em> <em>(When mom does her shift at KFC.)</em></p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“What‘cha doing there, kid?” Happy asks him as he knocks on Peter’s door, slowly pulling it ajar.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter looks up from his papers, rubbing at his eyes as he lets out a yawn. He gives Happy a nod to let him know that it’s okay to come in.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The man then walks up beside him, a hand on his hip as he looks over at Peter’s calculations. He makes a face. “Yeah no, if you’re gonna ask help for this stuff, you better ask Tony and not me.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter makes a face at him, not sure if he’s joking or being serious. What is it with him bringing up this Tony dude? He doesn’t even know who he is. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p> “Ask who?” He snorts, shaking his head. “<em>Tony Stark?</em>” He jokes.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Uh, yeah? Who else?” Happy looks at him like he doesn’t know if Peter’s joking or not. “Tony Stark, billionaire, inventor, Iron-man? AKA the guy that I work for?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter’s eyes widen. “Wait a minute—- this whole time you’ve been talking about Tony Stark and not your like— eccentric best friend?” He lets his jaw touch the floor in shock.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Happy just laughs at him. “Yeah?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter blinks his eyes and shakes his head, and now it suddenly made so much more sense as to why Happy seems to always be in a full suit.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Anyway,” Happy interrupts Peter’s thoughts, hands going in his pockets. “I was just thinking that you may want to take a break, kid— maybe watch a movie or something before you burn yourself out. Netflix just added <em>Aliens</em>, and May isn’t here.” He raises an eyebrow as his lip quirks up.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter’s ears perk up upon hearing the movie title. He’s been dying to watch the movie ever since Happy had suggested it, but most of the time he never got to as May had forbidden him to watch— as she so eloquently put it— “Those disgusting and disturbing movies.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Fine, fine—“ He waves off Happy, turning his front back to his desk, trying not to sound too giddy. “Lemme just clean this up.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“It’s gonna be fun, kid, trust me.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter just shakes his head, a hint of a smile on his face.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>Happy turned out to be right.</em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p><em> <strong>Ce serait drôle un jour d’aller jouer aux quilles, </strong> </em> <em>(It would be fun to go bowling, one day.) </em></p>
  <p><em> <strong>Ç</strong></em><em><strong>’a l’air qui font ça dans les vraies familles.</strong> </em> <em> (It seems like real families do that.)</em></p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p> May had suggested that they all go bowling one Sunday night.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Happy taught Peter and May how to strike.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter doesn’t know if, in the end, it had been a good idea as Happy ended up losing.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Still, Peter appreciates him going out of his way to teach him something that he doesn’t know. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It had been such a long time since he hasn’t taught himself something.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>It was a nice change.</em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p><em> <strong>S’rais-tu mon père pour toute la vie? </strong> </em> <em>(Will you be my dad for the rest of time?) </em></p>
  <p><em> <strong>L</strong></em><em><strong>’temps passe, pourtant t’es pas parti. </strong> </em> <em>(Time has passed, but you still haven’t left.)</em></p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p> “Happy anniversary!” May laughs as she hands something to Happy.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It’s been two years since they’ve been together. Peter still can’t believe that time can fly by so fast.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Happy kisses her on the cheek as he pulls out something from his pocket; a small, velvet box.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter tries his best not to shake the camera in his hands. He already knew that this was going to happen— hell, <em>he had planned it with Happy himself,</em> but the happiness and excitement bubbles in his stomach and rushes through every limb in his body as Happy gets down on one knee.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>If it isn’t for the fact that his eyes are getting teary, he would’ve laughed at May’s shriek.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Will you, May—“</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Happy didn’t even get to finish his sentence.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>“Yes!”</em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p><em> <strong>Moi, j’suis fatigué de jouer au tough. </strong> </em> <em>(I’m tired of acting tough.) </em></p>
  <p><em> <strong>J'</strong> </em> <em> <strong>ai dans l’ventre une carrière de roches. </strong> </em> <em>(My stomach is full of rocks.)</em></p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p> Peter stumbles into his bedroom through his window, chest-heaving as he takes off his homemade mask. He grits his teeth as he continues applying pressure onto the wound, closing his window with one of his legs.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He hears a stack of papers drop.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter quickly whips his head around.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Happy’s face, morphing into shock— then disbelief, then concern, then rage, greets him back.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Is this what you’ve been doing, sneaking out all these years?” He asks Peter, gaze hard and almost deadly. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Happy rarely gets angry.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yes,” Peter wheezes as he stands upright; his lungs screaming for more oxygen. He winces as he continues putting pressure on the wound on his left shoulder. “I know, I know— I’m sorry but I’m—“</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Happy quickly notices his discomfort. He drops his disapproving parental act for a moment and goes on full mother hen mode. “What— what is it, kid? What happened?” He moves towards Peter’s side in less than a second and Peter let’s his tired and aching body fall onto him.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Bullet grazed me,” were the only words that he had managed to spew out through the pain.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Happy inhales a breath. “Do you have a first aid kit in here somewhere?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Under— under my bed.” Peter groans as Happy slowly let’s him sit on the ground; pain pulsating in his arm.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Within seconds, Happy has a needle in his hand and Peter’s trying his best not to wince nor flinch every time the sharp metal goes through his skin.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>There was a pause— and then;</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I think it’s time for you to meet him.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter looks up at Happy, making eye contact. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The man’s eyes are glassy.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Who?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Another pause. Happy lets out a sigh.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>“Tony.”</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter shakes his head. “Why?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Happy breaks eye contact as he sets the medical instrument back down in the box.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>“Because you need to know that you aren’t alone, kid.”</em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p><em> <strong>Pis comme c’est ma fête le mois prochain,</strong> </em> <em> (And since it’s my birthday next month,) </em></p>
  <p><em> <strong>M</strong>'</em><em><strong>emmènerais-tu voir une game des Canadiens? </strong> </em> <em>(Will you take me to a game and lunch?)</em></p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p> Meeting Tony Stark had been an experience, to say the least.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>An experience that had ended with a brand new suit.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p> As Happy drives back home, Peter’s body shakes with excitement.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p> Once they’re both parked, Peter almost bursts open the car door— but Happy has locked it before he can even try.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Happy?” Peter asks, an eyebrow raised. “Can you open the door?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Happy’s hands fell from the steering wheel and onto his own lap.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Listen, kid,” He starts, clearing his throat. “When I told Tony about you— I didn’t think that he would, you know—“ He waves his hand towards the metallic suitcase on Peter’s lap.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter, not a clue as to where the conversation is going, doesn’t respond.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I just—“ Happy sighs. “You’re a smart kid. I have absolute faith in you and what you do.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“<em>I trust you, Peter</em>…” Happy looks back at him, making eye contact. His voice wavers.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter swallows the lump in his throat. He ignores the familiar feeling of tears welling up in his eyes as Happy says one last thing;</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>“Just… be safe. Please.”</em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p><em> <strong>Pis si personne entend pis que c’est juste une fois… </strong> </em> <em>(And if no one else hears, and it’s just once...)</em></p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p> The wedding had been extravagant.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>May had been wearing the white dress that his grandmother had worn; a family tradition, she had said.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Happy had worn his best suit.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Families and friends had attended. Joyful music had played.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>A few of the Avengers had even showed up, wishing them both happiness.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>As Peter clicks through the pictures that had been taken, a warm feeling blossoms in his chest upon seeing a specific one.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It’s a picture of him, May and Happy. The two adults were showing off their rings to the camera as both of their arms were wrapped around Peter’s shoulders, squeezing him into a one armed hug in between them both. All three of them had their lips curled up into the brightest smiles that they had ever had.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>It’s his favourite.</em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p><em> <strong>Voudrais-tu que j’t’appelle papa?</strong> </em> <em> (Would you want me to call you dad?)</em></p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter looks at the black packet in his hand.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He shakes his head and promptly throws it to the garbage can.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter then swings himself home, going through his window as always to get inside. Today had been an uneventful day.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>As he takes off his suit, someone knocks on his door. “Hey kid, you free for a bit? We wanna show you something.” Happy calls out.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Just a sec!” Peter replies, putting on a hoodie and pajama pants.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>As soon as he’s done he walks to the living room, seeing May and Happy on the sofa with a pile of papers on the coffee table.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter quirks an eyebrow. “What? Is this some sort of test?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“No, Pete,” May chuckles at him, shaking her head. She intertwines her arm with Happy’s. “Just… sit down, will you?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter does as he’s told, sitting down onto the armchair adjacent to the sofa that Happy and May are both sitting in. “Well?” He asks as soon he plops down.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Happy clears his throat. “Well—“ He starts, placing a hand on top of May’s hand. “Your Aunt— that is, if you want to call her your aunt and not… <em>I don’t know</em>, <em>your mo</em>—“</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Before Happy can even finish his sentence, Peter stands up. His eyes landing and focusing themselves on the papers.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>There, written in big, bold letters are the words: <em><strong>ADOPTION FORM</strong></em>.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>May, upon his sudden reaction, untangles her arm from Happy’s and instead places a hand on top of Peter’s. “You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, Pete—“</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter looks up at May, and this time, he lets the tears fall free.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Instantly, May’s arms are around him— and it didn’t take long before Happy’s own are around him too.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Peter? Are you okay?” May fumbles with her words, unsure on how to address his sudden outburst. “We don’t have to—“</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“No,” Peter replies as he lifts his head up from their arms. “I— I want to.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Happy, still unsure, pipes up. “Are… are you sure, kid? I mean, I understand that maybe it’s a bit too fast—“</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Peter just shakes his head. He’s sobbing, but his whole body is filled with joy and excitement and glee and he’s so sure that he wants this. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“<em>I am,</em>” He says, as May and Happy wipe the tears off of his face.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“<em>A hundred percent.</em>” <em>He smiles</em>.</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>and as always, requests are open over on my tumblr! :]</p></blockquote></div></div>
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